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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24933052">Meliora</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlasticRamen/pseuds/PlasticRamen'>PlasticRamen</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dead by Daylight (Video Game), Silent Hill (Video Game Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Accidents, Canon-Typical Violence, Caretaking, Dirty Talk, Don't Fall in Love with Your Patients, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Sex, F/M, Flirting, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Nursing Kink, Older Man/Younger Woman, Past Drug Addiction, Past Lives, Past Violence, Redemption, Semi-Public Sex, Silent Hill is for Lovers?</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 06:40:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,842</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24933052</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlasticRamen/pseuds/PlasticRamen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Stubborn patients? She has plenty of experience with those. But even her kindness has its limits.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Deathslinger/Lisa Garland</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>Meliora: </em>Latin adjective meaning "better", "better things", "always better", "ever better", or, more fully, "for the pursuit of the better".</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <strong>
    <span class="u">Meliora</span>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>They called her the ‘good nurse’. Lisa never thought of herself as good. Penitent, in recovery, and sober, but never good.</p>
<p>‘Good’ was something you had to earn. You couldn't buy it with an anniversary coin or costly trips to a luxurious rehab facility, although those things were a decent start. There were no twelve step programs in the fog; she was making this up as she went. Some would say she had already suffered enough for her crimes, but she still had a great deal of atoning to do. At least this time around she didn't have to go it alone.</p>
<p>There were others here, people that she could help. She took a silent oath to never turn down a person in need, applying her nursing skills whenever possible, often putting herself at risk doing so. Her purple medkit with its ‘miracle syringes’ (<em>Instaheals</em>, as Feng called them) came with her to every trial. She used to track each time she’d brought a person back from near-death, until she lost count.</p>
<p>Once, it had been her job to keep someone from dying. Someone who very much wished to be free from pain. Once, Lisa had been a strung-out addict who muted her screaming conscience with her boss's drugs. Now, she resurrected more people than an ER doctor with a crash cart. A decent start.</p>
<p>Even so, she did not accept the nickname.</p>
<p>It wasn’t until she had a run-in with Sally Smithson (‘<em>The Worst Nurse </em>’) that Lisa began to understand. For every bandage she had applied, every gushing wound she had plugged, the screeching banshee caused twice as much carnage, teleporting around the map in a murderous frenzy. Bitch. She really seemed to revel in the bloodshed, too. All the killers did.</p>
<p>Not unlike a certain girl she used to know.</p>
<p><em> More than know</em>, Lisa corrected herself with a shudder. <em> I was her caregiver. At Alchemilla. Not far from this very building. </em></p>
<p>She glanced around the classroom, tightly gripping the purple medkit full of ‘that good shit’ (Nea's words, not hers). The fact that the Entity had brought her back to the source of her nightmares, shame, and self-loathing hadn’t quite hit yet. She could hear things beyond the walls: muffled noises and scratching, the moans and inhuman cries. She had tried so hard to repress that slaughterhouse symphony. To forget. Maybe, if she closed her eyes, she would wake up by the campfire, surrounded by friends...</p>
<p>Then the siren started wailing, and the hopeful, uneasy smile, which so often occupied her lips, disappeared. Her loose fingers nearly dropped the medkit.</p>
<p>Traces of Alessa’s evil permeated. The ash in the air gave it a stale, chalky taste, although it smelled of nothing but sulfur. The Entity seemed to have taken a step back, allowing the tortured girl’s influence to mutate and spread. That, or it had acted as a catalyst, allowing for exponential growth in the worst way.</p>
<p>"I thought we had an understanding," she murmured, eyeing a hook warily. "Guess not."</p>
<p>Long after the mournful siren faded, she remained frozen to the floor. Sooner or later, she knew she must move, lest someone mistake her for one of those scalpel-wielding bobble-heads back at the hospital. An insult to her profession if there ever was.</p>
<p>Swallowing dryly, she put one high-heeled foot, then the other, through a crumbling hole in the wall and slipped into the next room, where her suspicions were confirmed. The more she saw, the more color that drained from her features. She nodded weakly at all the decay and rust (<em>Yup, it's Silent Hill, all right</em>), dusting off her dress, which was beyond even the help of bleach. The new room was inhabited by clusters of tumorous growths (which didn’t move, thank god) and metal cages dangling from the ceiling.</p>
<p>Containment for the guilty. And, sometimes, the unlucky.</p>
<p>The wretch in the one closest to her pitched its body against the bars, raw pink muscles and exposed nerves gleaming in the dim light. Once, she had been suspended and bound in a similar position, tended to by one of Alessa's deformed creatures, the blood eternally pooling in places, drained in others, fading in and out of existence, but there was always something sharp or loud or invasive to bring her back. She suddenly grew faint, and turned her face away from the ugly sight, rubbing her forehead. The skin there felt thin as paper and just as weak, as if she were origami instead of human. As if she were a soul trapped in folds and creases. Her hands shook, but she couldn't feel them.</p>
<p>Depersonalization, or ‘out of body’ sensations. She knew the symptoms. Some sort of mental breakdown was incoming, but she must stave it off as long as she could. If she was being totally honest, the hospital basement had been worse. If only by a thin, jet-black hair.</p>
<p>“And here I thought I was done with this town,” she laughed meekly.</p>
<p>Pulling her red sweater tight around herself, she went from room to room, searching. It was an achievement, how each location managed to be more ‘totally fucking gross’ (Cheryl’s lingo often popped into her head) and upsetting than the next. And it took a lot for a veteran nurse to use that kind of language. To think, she used to walk right by such abominations, pretending like they weren't there, hungering for her soul. It taken a living, breathing man to hold up a mirror and show her just how wrong she was. She often wondered what ever became of Harry. The last time she ever saw him, she remembered walking toward him and fainting, a common occurrence back in those days. Maybe she should ask Cheryl.</p>
<p>She remembered she had a job to do, and knelt by the first generator to cross her path. She wasn’t any good with these damned things. Her head swam, full of invisible fish. Were those her white, dainty fingers, working the parts, or someone else’s? And whose eyes were those, on the back of her head?</p>
<p>She turned around. Nothing but a cracked door, to a room she hadn't gone inside. Now why was that? Oh well. She turned back. No use. Impossible to concentrate, with that vertical hole boring into her psyche. Maybe she should pop a pill from her trusty purple bottle. Just one, to lessen the shock. To take the edge off.</p>
<p>Her hand strayed to the medkit by her side. She always kept it close. Closer than a child clinging to its mother. Shaking her head, she stood up. This place was making her forget herself. Or, was this the final, blurred image, before her true self came crashing into focus?</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh my God, it's just a stupid door. </em>
</p>
<p>The next few seconds were all grainy, like TV static, and then her hand was pushing the door the rest of the way open. She stepped inside, her heels clicking on tile, <em> click click </em>. Just another classroom, full of rows of desks, one or two embedded in the ceiling. Slowly, she dragged her finger through the dust of one, flicking it off the tip of her long nail.</p>
<p>Here, right here. Front row. That was where she had sat, as a little girl, still full of hopes and dreams of being an actress. The smile flickered, briefly, to her lips, remembering singing into her pink hairbrush and begging to use the family camcorder to make movies. The time her friend, who had sat next to her in this classroom, had dared her to play Bloody Mary in the dark and she had insisted on filming their shadowed, frightened faces, caught in the mirror's reflection.</p>
<p>If the rumors were true, farther back…</p>
<p>Lisa looked, with a stiff neck, over her shoulder, certain someone was watching. Farther back was HER desk. Alessa’s. Forever marked by horrid accusations and insults. Forever an outcast. An evil thing, even for children. Perhaps even moreso. But kids learn, first and foremost, from what they see and hear at home. It echoed in them throughout their entire lives, unless they learn to cut it off at the source.</p>
<p>Every home in Silent Hill had been guilty, and every home in Silent Hill had rang with a note of that death dirge, including hers.</p>
<p>She ran out the door, taking a single step in the hallway, and the walls reeled. The floor twisted. She stumbled into a locker, throwing an arm out in time to steady herself, whimpering in fear. Her paper legs shook and wobbled. She was going to faint, faint right where Aless-, where the killer would find her...<br/><br/>A bellow of pain sailed up from a hole in the floor, followed by a sharp curse. Piercing sounds, made from living, moving vocal cords, which sent the small blonde hairs on the back of her neck standing up. Whoever it was, they hadn't sounded like David, Dwight, Jeff, or any of the other men (she couldn't even say for sure it was male). She snapped back into survival mode, taking a quick, deep breath. Averting her eyes from the ajar classroom door.<br/><br/>She couldn't give in now. Not when someone needed her, when she had failed, so many times, to do the right thing.<br/><br/>Picking the medkit up from the floor (she was unaware she had dropped it) Lisa took a quick second to recall the layout of her old elementary school. Then she ran for the nearest stairwell, bawling out to her mystery patient,<br/><br/>"Hang on! I'm coming!"</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Lisa descended the stairs, listening for a response. A moan. Anything. But the school was devoid of disturbances, Entity or otherwise. She tried not to let it alarm her. Survivors knew better than to make noise, even when grievously wounded. She dared not call out again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She reached the bottom of the stairs and started running down the hall. Her name tag jounced and her scarlet heels rapped against the linoleum. Echoing, for all of Silent Hill to hear, perhaps drawing the attention of whatever malevolent things waited in the darkness. She couldn’t worry about those. Not yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moments later, she arrived safely at the reception desk. She crossed the counter, remembering how towering it had been as a little girl, reaching for the door to the waiting room. The slender hand that grasped the doorknob was steady. Calm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pressed her ear to the soot-stained wood. Metal screeched, like nails on a chalkboard. Something that sounded like scissors snipped, while someone growled and swore under their breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her heart ached for whoever it was. Hopefully, this wasn’t beyond her skill. Killers often left her breathless at their inventiveness, their dedication to cruelty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taking a deep breath, Lisa regained her composure and opened the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Propped against a couch, which had been dragged closer to the wall, was a stranger with smooth, sandy hair. Lisa had never seen him before. His broad back was turned to her. He favored one arm over the other as he struggled to remove the barbed wire rolled tightly around his ankles. A deep puncture bled from his left shoulder. She frowned at a piece of jagged glass that was still embedded where it struck him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“H-hello?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man froze. Pivoting slowly, he kept his hat brim down over his eyes. He drew his lips back in a half-smile, half-grimace, displaying a pair of sharp canines.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be god-damned,” he chuckled. “A bloody nurse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lisa’s eyes narrowed, ever-so-slightly. Her halcyon smile wavered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She said pleasantly, “Geeze, that looks pretty awful. Want me to take a look?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her question went unanswered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Red ridin’ hood, come to help the big, bad wolf, eh?” he huffed. “Heh, that’s a new one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He resumed clipping the thorny wire with a pair of pliers. His deft hand trembled as he did so, and his body was rigid, but he made no further complaint. His fingers were soaked red and his pants were bloodied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lisa darted forward with the medkit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here, let me-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She spied the weapon, propped under his coat. Her lips thinned into a solid line. The gun was spattered with gore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes followed a trail of footprints of various sizes, leading from his radius into the lobby. The smudged trail ended at the hatch. It would appear that the frightened rabbits had all retreated into their burrow.</span>
</p><p>And left one behind, as bait.</p><p>
  <span>Something clicked. She glanced down, and the only clean part of the rifle—the spear tip affixed to the front—glinted in her direction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She moaned in dismay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shh. Don’t move,” he growled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you want?” she whimpered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bring that box o’ yours over here,” he ordered. “C’mon. There’s a good lass.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hesitated, glaring at the hatch, her delicate brow creased. Then, it smoothed out, and her anesthetized smile returned. She said brightly,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course! I was just making sure we were safe. You never know who might be watching.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who indeed?” he chuckled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Off in the distance, the siren started again, wailing like a dying cat. She gulped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He kept his head bowed and the rifle trained on her. Blood dropped from the loose chain, onto the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a...fancy-looking, um, contraption,” she said. Small talk was important at the start of treatment. It kept them distracted. “Did you make it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t trouble yourself with that,” he grunted. “Leave the medicine, and go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slapped his hand down on the couch cushion. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Thwack!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Lisa sidestepped the couch, squatting down next to him instead, the purple medkit in her lap. Now that she was almost eye-level with him, she didn’t want to be. Leaving sounded like the best idea in the universe. A nebula-prize-winning suggestion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except she had made an oath, and she couldn’t break it. Not because of the likes of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead she said, “Don’t be silly. You need help. I can get the glass out. You needn’t worry, I’m very good at-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His head reared back. Black, diamondback eyes burned holes into her. His feral smile transformed into a disjointed scowl, and she saw, for the first time, the severe scars on his jaw. Dislocated like a snake’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He cracked it into place, and her stomach flipped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you know who I am?” he rumbled. “Don’t tell me you’re that dumb, Miss.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her face reddened. She rose to her feet, taking a step back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I know very well </span>
  <em>
    <span>who you are</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Mr.-“</span>
</p><p>“Quinn. Caleb Quinn.” He coughed. “But they call me the Deathslinger.”</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>At least it’s better than Pyramid Head</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Quinn,” she finished. “My name is Lisa Garland. It doesn’t make any difference who you are. I am under oath to help you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh? And what foolish oath is that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But she didn’t owe him answers. She tried to squeeze between the couch and wall to get a better look at the puncture wound. She rested her hand lightly on his shoulder to reassure him. Something she just did automatically to all her patients.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Big mistake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sprang without warning, seizing a handful of long, honey-blonde hair, yanking her down so hard the medkit flew from her hands. She shrieked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ow! Let go!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pulling her close, he sneered into her ear, “You stick around, and I might have to make a snack outta you when I’m done.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He let her go. When she tried to right herself, he slapped her ass, leaving a handprint on her dress that matched the color on her face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t say it again. Get outta here. Consider it a free lunch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rumbled laughter to himself and reached into his jacket, pulled out a hand-rolled cigarette, and lit it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaking, Lisa took a step toward the door. Tunnel-vision set in. Visions of injecting him with sleeping cocktails. Visions of running off and leaving him to bleed out. It was what he deserved. Even someone as fierce as he wouldn’t last long in this town.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well?” he drawled. “What’s it gon’ be? Don’t make me waste a cartridge on you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shivered, and cast a paranoid glance around the room. Didn’t this man—this killer—know the depths of the depravity that lurked here? Maybe he had no reason to be afraid, but deep down in her traumatized (and somewhat forgetful) soul, she didn’t believe that. They were both in very real, very grave danger</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He scanned her hungrily, settling on where her dress ended at her cream-colored thighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will not leave you,” she declared. “Until you’re better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She flinched and waited for the gun blast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Deathslinger leaned against the back of the couch and stretched out his shredded legs, heedless of how they bled everywhere. He was even bigger than she’d realized.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This oughta be good, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He propped the gun against the couch and gestured for her to come closer. How dare he relax, in such a state, and in such a place? She would do her quickest patch-job yet and get the hell out of there.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Good’, he said. Not the word I’d use. Not until he earns it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Wordlessly, she rolled up her sleeves, dug through the medkit for the tweezers, and got to work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If all else failed, if he decided he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>want to kill her, she could always stick him with a powerful sedative and leave him for Alessa to deal with.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She pulled on a pair of rubber gloves, uncapping a syringe (which any sane individual would beg for).</p><p>Caleb recoiled back on the sofa. Not for the first time, Lisa felt as though she were in close proximity to a rattlesnake.</p><p>“What’s wrong? Afraid of a little needle?” she asked, fighting the urge to giggle. If she tried to laugh now, she could look forward to choking on several feet of barbed, meticulously-hammered iron. Still, she was less concerned about her patient and more about what might overhear them. If she could keep him quiet, it would make things easier.</p><p>Though, a furtive part of her conscience was thrilled to see a killer on the other side of karma. Oh, the things she could do, the wrongs she could right with a few medical supplies.</p><p>“Don’t trust you,” he growled. “You got shifty eyes, for a nurse.”</p><p><em> If I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t either, </em>she thought, her smile widening.</p><p>“I had to be shifty, at my former job. They, ah, sure knew how to keep me on my toes, ha ha. You don’t have to worry, though!”</p><p>That just made him tense more, hands clenching and unclenching into fists. Moments ago, when he’d grabbed her, she’d felt just a hint of what he was capable of doing with his bare hands. She kept her distance. Even when reduced to laying on a couch, relying on a washed-up nurse for help, he was the most hazardous thing in the room.</p><p>“It’s just an injection, for the pain,” she explained, waggling the needle, trying to tempt him. “You’ll want it. Trust me.”</p><p>He shook his head. Pieces of his long hair separated, sliding down his jacket. She wondered how he found the time to keep it so well-groomed.</p><p>“Already took care of that.”</p><p>He opened his coat and pulled out a flask. There was scarcely a drop to slosh around, and telltale vapors wafted from the open cap.</p><p><em> Ah, that old panacea</em>. Lisa tried not to wrinkle her nose.</p><p>“I see,” she trailed off. “You’ve gone and drowned your pain in bourbon? Well, you’re making this easy for both of us, aren’t you?”</p><p>He whipped the flask at her, snarling. She ducked. It clattered against a wall. If his ungodly tantrums hadn’t drawn every monster for miles, she'd bet her only cap that just had.</p><p>“<em>Whiskey, </em>lass. There’s a difference. Now, if we’re done flappin’ jaws,” he warned, reaching for the gun. “Get to work. Or should I give you ten seconds, and we can resume our little game of chase, eh?” His gaze roved over her body, yet again. “Make it eleven seconds, since you’re in such ridiculous footwear.”</p><p>Lisa’s ears burned, making her shuffle self-consciously on her heels. This was going to be much more difficult without some kind of sedation, but what did she expect? His complete and total cooperation? She was lucky if she could get the other survivors to sit still, and they were on <em> her </em> side. </p><p>“I’m faster than you think,” she mumbled. “Heels or no.”</p><p>“Heh. You got the legs for it. Almost would be a sin, if any harm would come to 'em.”</p><p>She ignored him, and his invitingly-raised eyebrows, having endured such harassment before (what felt like and was almost certainly a lifetime ago). She returned the needle to its designated slot in the medkit. Her fingertips brushed the bottle full of opiates. One little white cap would exorcise her fears. Two would transport her into a divine state, impervious to demons and killers alike. She shut the lid tight, biting her lip. Sweat broke out on her brow.</p><p>She could leave this hell, if she wanted. There was more than one kind of exit.</p><p>Lisa looked up, mortified, to see Caleb’s knowing, curious expression. She pretended not to notice, as warmth seeped from her ears into her neck. She held up a needle and thread proudly. Her sword and shield. The most surly patients turned docile once she brandished her instruments.</p><p>Caleb only grew more impatient and threatening by the second, eyeing his gun when he wasn’t glaring at her.</p><p>“This is going to hurt,” she cautioned.</p><p>He turned, without a word. She gulped. With his back facing her, she couldn’t read his expression as he muttered, “Be quick.”</p><p><em> Don’t have to tell me twice. </em> To her credit, she removed the four-inch, lightning-shaped piece of glass ( <em> Laurie’s handiwork? </em>) in record time. He’d lost a worrying amount of blood, but her tobacco-chewin’, ne'er do well, gore-slinging patient, who had probably sent more people to infirmaries or an early grave than she could treat in a hundred lifetimes, remained poised during the extraction. Though, he did once growl so severely she almost dropped her tweezers, certain she was about to be retired from her practice.</p><p>Followed by his deep, relaxed sigh.</p><p>“Got a touch like an angel, I’ll give you that."</p><p>She paused, halfway through the next stitch, pulling the thread through his skin and dabbing at the wound with a gauze square. He'd sounded as if she had just raked her fingers through his hair and fed him a shot of top-shelf whiskey.</p><p>
  <em> Okay, I’m good, but I’m not THAT good. </em>
</p><p>She rested her elbow on his shoulder for a moment, wiping hair out of her eyes. He sighed again, startling her. She took the rare opportunity to scan him over. His hands, the fingers clever and calloused, gripped his knees tightly as she stitched him back together, loop by loop. She hadn’t bothered removing his shirt, but the more she touched and felt what was under there, the more her imagination filled in the gaps.</p><p>And when it came to the Deathslinger, she <em>liked</em> what she saw.</p><p>“Done!” she announced a little too loudly, snipping the thread.</p><p>Caleb cracked his neck and stretched, still favoring his other shoulder. Not so much as a ‘thank you’, but she wasn’t going to coax one out of him.</p><p>“Well?” he interrupted her little reverie, pulling back one of his pant legs. It looked like he’d lost a fight with a chihuahua. “There’s more where that came from.”</p><p>The sight of his wounds and his urgent tone brought her back.</p><p>“Sorry. Of course.”</p><p>She glanced around the room, checking to make sure they were still alone. Positioning herself in front of him, she knelt with a pair of scissors, resting her shoulder against his other knee, and started snipping the pant leg above the worst of his cuts.</p><p>“You just couldn’t wait to cut ‘em off me, could you?” he asked, smiling wryly. He snuck a hand down and pinched a strand of her honey-blonde hair, sliding it between his fingers, studying it.</p><p>She pretended as though she hadn’t felt or heard anything. The scissors sped up their orbit around his leg. She remained focused, cleaning, treating, dressing, until his shins no longer resembled chew toys. That he made not a peep nor a flinch told her his threshold for pain might have been boundless. Or he was just unapologetically drunk.</p><p>As if that wasn’t enough, she endured such penetrating stares from him, her heart skipped more than it could beat. She did her best not to look disheveled.</p><p>“You know,” he mused deeply, “I’d say you were more scared of this place, than you are of me. Now ain't that curious."</p><p>She’d been expecting some new, inane comment about her anatomy. She said nothing. It wasn’t prudent to engage a killer, to tell him about herself. Besides, she wasn’t here for his entertainment, and he delighted in her discomfort. But their unpleasant time together was (hopefully) at an end.</p><p>“Finished,” she announced, standing up and snapping the empty medkit shut. “You can go back to...whatever it is you do, when you’re not slaughtering people. And I’ll be going!”</p><p>She waved and headed for the door. Caleb jumped up, more nimble than he had a right to be. Full of surprises, that old Deathslinger.</p><p>“Where you runnin' off to, nurse?”</p><p>Her spine bumped against the wall, and the door seemed to stretch miles away. Perhaps he was craving that snack after all. She swallowed dryly.</p><p>“I’d like to get out of here,” she pleaded, lacing her fingers together. She looked beyond him, into the lightless corners of the dismal room. “I’ve overstayed my welcome. We both have.”</p><p>Impervious to her threat, he followed her gaze, nodding in agreement. </p><p>“Don’t remember the old schoolhouse being quite so terrifyin’, as a wee boy. Could give Hellshire a run for its damned money. What d’you call this godforsaken heap o' bricks, anyway?”</p><p>As they conversed, she started inching towards the door, beyond which was the exit gate.</p><p>“Midwich Elementary,” she answered. “A primary school.”</p><p>“Aye, and what town?”</p><p>“S-silent Hill.”</p><p>His eyes narrowed. “Never heard of it.”</p><p>“You should be glad of that, Mr. Quinn.”</p><p>He kept talking, while striding toward her, and she had to struggle at times to understand him.</p><p>“I’ve seen people break their heads open and bloody their hands to a pulp, just to claw at the gates. That type o’fear is commonplace 'round here. But you...you got the pallor of someone who’s escaped death row, and been sent back.</p><p>You're eager to redeem yourself of somethin'. Why else would you help a monster like me?”</p><p><em>Because I must be going mad,</em> she thought.</p><p>“If you can tell all that,” she said, “then let me go. This place is a prison.”</p><p><em> ' For me'</em>, she meant to add, but her throat had grown tight, and her eyes shined.</p><p>He paused, seeming to understand. Then,</p><p>“Oh, but I can’t, dear nurse. Not yet.”</p><p>She paled.</p><p>He lunged, encircling her forearm with his hand, and pulled. She thudded into his chest with a startled yelp, which turned into a silent, pinched grimace as he guided her hand inside his jacket, her body flush against his. Nowhere under the black sun should she be <em> that </em> close to him, and here he was, sticking her hand in places it didn’t belong...</p><p>She shut her eyes and wailed, “Why can’t you just let me <em> leave </em>!? Why do you always have to torture us?”</p><p>He brought her palm flat against his vest, along his right side. It was soaked.</p><p>“Because you missed a spot.”</p><p>He pulled his jacket aside, and she saw something that turned her veins icy cold. She tried to lift her hand away, but he kept it compressed there. His blood seeped between her fingers.</p><p>“W-who did this to you?”</p><p>“You mean, which survivor?” he asked mockingly. “Wasn’t anyone like that.”</p><p>She winced.</p><p>“Then who?”</p><p>“He came out of nowhere, after the others left,” Caleb recalled. His free hand stroked the back of her head, but she barely noticed.</p><p>“Caught me off guard as I was doubled over. Jumped me. Dragged me down, tried to choke the air outta my lungs, and I landed on a bit o’ broken pipe, or maybe he stuck me with somethin’, can’t recall. I threw him off."</p><p>"What did he look like?" she asked.</p><p>"He was a loathsome, faceless bastard. And he was too fast for me to get a shot. He crawled up the wall, like a lizard, and was gone.”</p><p>Caleb spat. Lisa reeled inwardly.</p><p>
  <em> How many times had he dragged her back into the darkness, crushing her hopes of escape? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> How much suffering and torture had she endured, wrought by his unyielding hands? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ...Did he know she was here? Is that why he came? </em>
</p><p>She turned towards the killer in the room. Her wide-eyed stare pierced beyond him, following the bloody scuff marks on the wall and ceiling that lead out into the hallway, as dark as a tunnel.</p><p>“You’ve met before?” he asked. For having just met her, he was so intent on exposing all her weaknesses and fears. But she supposed that came natural to a bounty hunter, or whatever he was. It was as natural for him to hunt and maim as it was for her to treat and heal.</p><p>
  <em>What a lovely pair we make. But three's a crowd, and we're not alone.</em>
</p><p>“Mr. Quinn. Caleb,” she dropped the formalities. “Consider yourself lucky. Not many have a run-in with that...creature...and live to tell the tale.”</p><p>“Could say the same about me,” he chuckled.</p><p>Smiling ruefully, he gave her hand a quick, tight squeeze. A delectable sort of chill ran down her arm. He had the demeanor of someone with a bonfire for a soul. Whatever inner madness or wrath possessed him (probably both), she was starting to appreciate the strength he drew out of it, like an endless fuel source. She supposed, evil or not, he had that 'grit' all the old westerns used to revere. And she, who had spent so much time, alone, in the despairing dark, couldn't help but be drawn to it.</p><p><em>God damn it, that's enough. </em> She drew her hand back sharply, and the cold air was the most unwelcome thing. <em> He has no right to make me feel like that. </em></p><p>“Your wound needs a compress. I don't have one,” She swallowed. “But I know the room that might.”</p><p>He snatched up his rifle and adjusted his hat, like he was about to go on a jaunt in the woods, maybe bag himself some dinner.</p><p>Then he reloaded the still-dripping, bloodstained speargun, winding up the crank, metal gears clicking along smoothly. The sight of it never failed to raise hairs on her neck.</p><p>“We'd better scamper on over, then,” he said, pointing the spear end toward the door. The exit gate sat, so close, yet so far.</p><p>She realized she didn’t want to go with this man, or treat him. He seemed to be doing just fine on his own. She didn’t care if that made her a terrible caregiver or a coward. This had gone on for way too long. Hadn’t she suffered enough?</p><p>“Well?" he drawled, breaking into a corrupt little smile. He winked at her.</p><p>"Lead the way, little lady. Don't keep a helpless old man waiting.”</p><p>And that was how Lisa found herself escorting a killer around her haunted elementary school, with her former jailer on the prowl.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If donning her nurse’s uniform had introduced her to the grim side of hospital work, then being trapped in the bowels of Silent Hill had prepared her for the Entity and its chosen. One doesn’t forget certain lessons one learns, along the way. And the things we cannot forget have the ability to reshape us, forever stuck in our coding. So she couldn't soon forget that her good intentions had paved the way down the long, dark road leading to her 'present situation'.</p><p>She stuck her golden head out the door. The corridor was an empty set from a Japanese horror movie. 'Empty’ didn’t always mean ‘safe’. Still, no sign of that ‘faceless loathsome bastard’, as Caleb had called it.</p><p>“This way.”</p><p>She led her slow-limping patient into the hall. What should have been a short trip to the infirmary turned into a slog. When it came to this town, it was best to stay limber, armed escort or no. Caleb hardly qualified as her bodyguard. As soon as she got him fixed, he might turn. Maybe sooner. There were some men neither hell’s punishments nor heaven’s promises could subdue. Maybe he was less of a man, and more of an obedient dog who did whatever the Entity bid of him.</p><p>Glancing over her shoulder at the wounded outlaw, she tried to think of excuses to get him to stay behind.</p><p>“Eyes ahead,” he ordered.</p><p>She walked on in silence. The abandoned school was alive and well. A vein of cockroaches ran down the wall, disappearing into a crevice. A ceiling pipe dripped, and the cracks in the walls breathed with mist. The building was otherwise inactive. Dormant, but an unceasing heat rose up from cracks in the floor. The same fiery heat could be felt everywhere at ground level.</p><p>Clasping her hands tightly, she wiped the perturbed look off her face before she turned towards Caleb.</p><p>“Second thoughts?” he rasped.</p><p>She shook her head. “You’re white as a ghost.”</p><p>“Nah, just Irish.”</p><p>He was joking with her, at a time like this. Her nostrils flared.</p><p>“I really <em> can’t </em> allow this. You should be lying down. Any other nurse worth her salt would force you.”</p><p>He scoffed and pulled himself to his full, monstrous height, though it must have pained him greatly. Before she could run for it, he caught her by the sleeve with that disarming range of his, dragging her over to him. </p><p>The gun’s tip slid against the delicate flesh under her chin. Her eyes widened, pleading up at him. He grinned, and it was feral. He may have a humorous side, but even that was tainted by the same vitriol that poisoned and empowered him.</p><p>“You’re a funny one, presumin’ you can <em> force </em> me.”</p><p>She dared not utter a word. He overcame some consuming, black urge and thrust her away, instead. The force sent her stumbling. She fell, slamming against a locker. She had cut her palm on broken glass. She flipped around and braced against the locker, smearing it with her bloody handprint.</p><p>“I thought you wanted my help!” she cried, hitching her skirt back down over her thighs. “But maybe you’re just crazy.”</p><p>“They did call me ‘Mad Mick’, once.”</p><p>He stepped over her, picking at his teeth with the same blade.</p><p>“I can’t let you outta my sight, now can I?” he went on. “Couldn’t live with myself, if you slipped away. Now move.”</p><p><em> More like the Entity wouldn’t let you live, </em> she thought balefully.</p><p>He extended his hand, and she hesitated, but took it. He pulled her to her feet and she adjusted her tattered uniform, as if she had taken a little tumble.</p><p>“You still don’t trust me,” she lamented. “It upsets me, is all.”</p><p>He gathered spit and spat down a crack in the floor. He reached in his jacket for a cigarette.</p><p>“Call it a habit.”</p><p>He leaned on his rifle for support, clutching his side. Tendrils of smoke twisted from his mouth. He had a problem trusting women or people in general. She wondered what impressions his past life had left on him, to turn him into a wolf in gentleman's clothing.</p><p>“Fine,” she relented. “At least let me do something about the bleeding.”</p><p>She started removing her sweater. Watching her closely, he smirked,</p><p>“If I cut myself, I wonder what you’ll strip off next?”</p><p>With her usual grace, ignoring her own stinging palm, she balled up the garment and held his coat open, pressing the bundle against the wound. If she didn’t hurry she might have to take a trip to the morgue instead. What would happen to her, if he died? Would she be allowed to leave, or was this all some kind of trick to trap her here? The whole thing reeked of evil, but she couldn’t tell which kind. Sometimes, it felt like the Entity and Alessa were cut from the same ethereal cloth.</p><p>A firm hand gripped her injured one, and she flinched. There was still strength in the tendons, but his flesh was cold. </p><p>“I got it,” he insisted. He had a pioneer's stubborn mindset, didn't he? He twisted her arm away and let go.</p><p>“Fine. Come on.”</p><p>She waved him on, picking at the glass in her palm. Her bare arm and hand were like an ivory stem tipped with a slender, unopened bud.</p><p>“It’s not far,” she called.</p><p>Caleb hounded her heels. When the scent of white lilies struck him, he blamed the whiskey and blood loss. He even looked around once for the source, but all he saw was her swaying silhouette.</p><p>They came to a cross-section and she paused, pretending to think. A low rasp and a shuffling sound drifted from the courtyard. Almost imperceptible to human ears, but hers <em>remembered</em>.</p><p>Caleb was less than thrilled.</p><p>“These hallways were built for children. But you look like you need directions.”</p><p>Her eyes flicked from the gun to his leering face. Her fingers curled into a fist around the shard embedded in her palm. With a magician’s touch, her hand slipped into her dress pocket, unnoticed. Everything she did, she did because it felt like the greater right. Medical staff made difficult choices all the time.</p><p>“Nonsense,” she said. “This way.”</p><p>She turned and waited for him to follow her into the courtyard. The only visible things holding ‘court’ out there were hedges, huddled together in miniature mazes. Rain fell in ribbons and silver streaks. Lisa headed towards the symbol burned into the concrete.</p><p>“What the hell is that thing?” she heard him ask.</p><p><em> The Seal of Metatron. </em>She remembered that, too.</p><p>“How should I know?” she shouted back. She had stopped just shy of the circle, cradling her hand.</p><p>The clocktower rang, a somber sound that once meant the end of joy for playing children. Caleb turned to observe it, rain dribbling off his hat and down the flaps of his coat. He leaned his full weight on his gun, and his breaths were almost undetectable. The lids of his eyes hung, heavy and gray.</p><p>Sometimes, when a patient got too unruly, intervention was required.</p><p>She took her hand out of her pocket and walked over to him. "It's just on the other side of the courtyard."</p><p>He grimaced, clutching her sweater tight against him. It had turned a deeper shade of red in his hand.</p><p>"This'd better be worth it," he warned.</p><p>"It will. I promise."</p><p>Too late did he spy what she clutched in her hand. He whipped the gun up, but his movements were sluggish and uneven. She dashed forward easily and stuck him in the thigh with a syringe.</p><p>"Goodnight, Mr. Quinn."</p><p>His eyes rolled, and the moons disappeared. The big gunslinger stumbled to one knee, and fell onto his side. Not even bull's blood was any match for that cold, uncaring chemistry. Lisa kicked his gun out of reach and backed away, watching for signs of movement. None came.</p><p>"Finally, a model patient," she sighed.</p><p>She turned and fled, only looking back once. The creature was there, crawling speedily towards Caleb's unconscious form. She turned around before it could close in on him, a retch rising in her throat. Her blood had worked nicely as a lure. Hunters used scent all the time to cheat, but she never thought she'd have to resort to such methods.</p><p>One problem, down and out, another to go. She still had to find a way out of there. If Valtiel was not satisfied with her 'offering', he would come for her next. He would probably come anyway. She hadn't done herself many favors, eliminating the only man who'd stood between her and the evils of this place.</p><p>Suddeny, she felt sick again. She ducked into the girl's restroom, clutching her dripping head, and ripped off the nurse's cap. She threw it to the floor, letting out a wretched sob that echoed off the tile.</p><p>But then she heard it again. Not an echo.</p><p>All the stall doors were closed or had been ripped off their hinges. The one on the end was shut fast. Soft, stuttering cries drifted from under the door. Lisa approached it cautiously. She leaned against the metal, shoving both hands in her pockets. Head thrown back, she shut her eyes. The pill bottle rattled as she clutched it with her good hand. </p><p>The muffled cries went on, heedless of her presence. Inconsolable.</p><p>"I think I finally know what I put you through," she murmured sadly.</p><p>The noises continued. Perhaps she only spoke to her conscience. It wouldn't be the first time she talked just keep herself from going insane.</p><p>"I let someone else down again. He hurt me, so I abandoned him."</p><p>Silence.</p><p>Lisa opened her eyes.</p><p>"I made a promise to myself the day I left. But here I am again, back in school. Is this some kind of test? Is that why I'm here?"</p><p>She turned around, pressing her forehead against the door. It was hot. Almost too hot to touch.</p><p>"Please. Can you ever forgive me?" she begged. She took the pill bottle out of her pocket and flipped off the cap. She ran over and dumped the contents down the nearest sink, listening as they rattled down the u-bend. She binned the bottle and returned to the door.</p><p>"I'm better now. I'm actually helping other people. I know what a monster I was. I made horrible mistakes. And I think I...I'm really scared that I screwed up again. Whatever happens now...I'm sorry."</p><p>The door creaked open.</p><p>Lisa bit her lip. She grasped the edge and pushed, dreading what she might find inside.</p><p>But the stall was empty. No toilet, no girl, no nothing.</p><p>Scratch that. Right at her feet, a few objects had been left in an ancient cardboard box covered in children's drawings. The side facing her depicted a crayon rendition of a nurse and a little girl, standing in a field of flowers. Both smiling. Lisa rotated the box, and the images gradually darkened. Reds, blacks, and grays abounded. Fire. Figures, trapped in smoke. Only the side facing her was hopeful.</p><p>Within the box was a basic transfusion kit, complete with two packets of universal-type blood, some gauze dressings, and an emergency flare. </p><p>Lisa nodded and gathered the bundle in her arms.</p><p>She left the bathroom and took off running. By the time she reached the bloody spot where Caleb had lain, Valtiel was already pulling him towards a hole in the earth.</p><p>"Stop! You can't have him."</p><p>He raised his head and turned his eyeless face towards her. She could tell just by the change in his body language, how he tensed with quiet rage, that he knew her.</p><p>
  <em>Please, let this work.</em>
</p><p>She lit the flare. Intense red light illuminated the courtyard like a miniature sun. The creature stopped, lowered its head, and kept dragging the unconscious man toward that bottomless hole. Few went to that other side and lived to tell the tale, a none would wish that fate on their worst enemy.</p><p>"I said NO."</p><p>She took the final syringe from the med-kit and ran towards him, jamming the needle in his neck. Without so much as a grunt of pain, he let go, retreating back into his hole. She sensed him watching her as she picked up Caleb's arms and started dragging him across the slippery concrete toward the infirmary, back the way they had already come. Droplets of his blood and a few muddy footprints led the way.</p><p><em>Never too late to retrace your steps, </em>she thought.</p><hr/><p>The transfusion went smoothly enough. Her muscles remembered the process, even if her pulse and mind weren't fully stable. Caleb slept deeply, long after the sedation wore off. She didn't have the strength to roll him onto a gurney, so she propped a pillow under his head and sat next to him on the floor. Beggars can't be choosers. </p><p>While he was out, she took a moment to learn more about him. She rifled through his belongings, finding, among many other engineering tidbits, a worn-out wrench that couldn't rotate an egg, let alone a bolt. She put it back and searched the pouches on his belts. He was fond of both tobacco and whiskey products, and she even found a vial of what looked like cocaine. You know, for those all-nighters hunting survivors. She made a face and dumped it down the drain. <em>Did you a favor there, buddy.</em></p><p>His face when he slept, devoid of scowls and sarcasm lines, was at peace. She brushed his hair out of his eyes and tried to make sure most of it stayed on the pillow. While she traced along his facial scars with one finger (a gunshot wound, of all things) something she had seen earlier, when she was treating him, bothered her. She lifted his pant leg, ignoring the bandage strips and the healing cuts. He bore a wide, round scar on his ankle. She touched it, once. A prisoner's chain, maybe? Whatever had been attached to him had been weighted heavily, to have left such horrific scarring.</p><p>She pulled his pant leg down and sat back on her knees, unsure what to do with herself, now that she wasn't needed. She glanced over at the blood packet. It was spent. She removed the needle from his arm and put gauze and pressure on the site. His color had returned nicely and his breathing was normalizing. The wound on his chest was packed and taped shut. It really needed stitches, but she thought it would heal. Just another scar on a man held together by them.</p><p>When she finished throwing the transfusion kit away, she returned to his side. She checked his arm to make sure it wasn't bleeding.</p><p>His eyes shot open.</p><p>"You should've put me down," he muttered.</p><p>Lisa opened her mouth in shock. Before she could scream or shout, his hand found her throat.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Idk what's up with me and dragging these poor characters into holes. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>His grip on her throat was absolute. Not a trace of weakness in those locked digits.</p><p><em> Well, at least </em> someone’s <em> feeling better, </em>Lisa thought miserably. Her body went limp, until he held her aloft by her slender neck alone. The job was done. Defending herself against him, when a warm fire and friends awaited on the other side, seemed a pointless exercise. Anything was better than being stuck here.</p><p>“Run outta fight, have you? Or maybe you’ve run outta needles?” Caleb leered, his jaw clenched so the cords stuck out in his neck. “Some healer you are. They teach you how to poison people in nursin' school?”</p><p>Flinching, she mouthed, “Sorry.”</p><p>Part of her was. The other part wished she had one more syringe left. She knew exactly where she’d stick it, too.</p><p>“I bet you're real sorry,” he muttered, licking his lips. “Knockin’ me out unawares. Won’t let you make that mistake again. You can be <em> damn </em> sure o’ that.”</p><p>His fingers locked into place. The longer he choked her, the more his strength resurged, and he took notice. Caleb’s marble-white eyes flicked to the bandage on his arm. He touched the carefully laid packing and tape on his chest, and she saw a lightbulb click above his head: if she’d wanted him dead, she had done a poor job of it.</p><p>His hand released her. She sucked in a tremulous breath, watching from the floor as he rose up and looked for his gun. That weird leg brace of his moved in sync with him, and she thought it much too advanced for the time period he hailed from. </p><p>Whirling on her, he rested his spindly hands on his belt. “Well? Don’t gimme them newborn calf eyes. Where the <em> fuck </em> is it?”</p><p>“The courtyard,” she blurted. “But please be careful. Valt-, er, that monster could still be out there.”</p><p>He snorted, raising both bushy eyebrows.</p><p>“You’d better come along, then, since you know him so well.”</p><p>Lisa reddened.  “I don’t <em>know</em> him. He knows me.”</p><p>
  <em> My soul. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> My weaknesses. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> My fears. </em>
</p><p>“So I see,” he mused. He rubbed his chin. “You make it your business befriendin' monsters?”</p><p>“He kept me prisoner here,” she explained. “Not that long ago, either.”</p><p>He fell silent and turned towards the door. Probably just anxious to get his precious weapon back.</p><p>Lightheaded, shaking, she had a difficult time clambering to her feet, using a gurney strap for support. He grew impatient and jerked her up by the arm, then, grudgingly, offered his own for her to hold onto. She took it, hesitant. Mere seconds ago she was certain he would strangle her. Now he was helping her wobble out the door.</p><p>In a funny twist of fate, their roles had reversed. She’d exhausted herself taking care of him, watching over him. She leaned against his overcoat as he marched them to the doors leading to the desecrated recess yard.</p><p>“Even more like Hellshire than I’d imagined,” he muttered, gazing up at the four walls. “Stay here.”</p><p>She looked past him, a fretful line knitted on her brow. No sign of Valtiel, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t lurking nearby, listening to their every breath.</p><p>“Shouldn’t I come with you?”</p><p>Caleb said back over his shoulder, “If that thing wants us both, it’s gonna get me first.” He mumbled, “So I can get a chance at blowin’ it’s fuckin’ head off. I’d call ‘im a cocksucker but it ain’t even got a mouth.”</p><p>She bit her lip and kept a lookout while he retrieved his gun in the pouring rain. He picked it up, examined it, and walked back with it cocked at the ready. He stopped, rigid, and her blood chilled (that she should be concerned about him concerned her gravely). He knelt and picked up something from the ground.</p><p>When he rejoined her in the gloom of the hallway, he handed over her dripping sweater.</p><p>“Won’t be needin’ this thing anymore. It’s a prettier sight on you anyways.”</p><p>“Thanks,” she said dryly, pinching the soiled garment between her fingers. The exit gate loomed behind them.</p><p>He was preoccupied with the welfare of his gun. She cleared her throat. “So, Mr. Quinn-”</p><p>“-Caleb.”</p><p>“Caleb. If you’re feeling better, I’d like to get going.”</p><p>He lined up a fake shot (not at her) and pulled the damp trigger. It made a dull clicking sound and he uttered a dissatisfied grunt.</p><p>“That so? Is my company that unsavory?”</p><p>She was genuinely confused.</p><p>“No,” she lied. “But, well, the match is over. Everyone’s gone but me.”</p><p>“Everyone but you,” he repeated, with a sly wink over the sight of his rifle. “But it wouldn’t be proper, to let a lady leave without thankin’ her for her healin’. Even if you <em> did </em> try and euthanize me like a fleabitten cur.”</p><p>“I said I was sorry,” she reminded him, holding up her injured hand. “You hurt me. I felt I didn’t have a choice.”</p><p>“Ay, and you still came back for me,” he said, grinning. He shouldered the gun and stepped up to her. “For which I’m mighty grateful. And what magic you worked with my sorry hide-”</p><p>He pretended to stretch, then put his hands on her shoulders, suddenly very interested in her lips. He leaned in.</p><p>“-I could <em> kiss </em> you.”</p><p>She leaned in, then, realizing her mistake, reeled and pulled her head back. He threw his own back and laughed richly.</p><p>“Pullin’ your skirt, lass! Unless, of course, you <em> want </em> me to.”</p><p>“I want no such thing,” she snapped. “Now are you going to let me go, or are you going to torture me some more?”</p><p>One large thumb caressed her in slow, playful circles. She shivered, far from cold. Her flesh ran hot under her uniform as she remembered her unprofessional thoughts about him earlier.</p><p>Now that she had his attention, with a full view of that twisted, devilish face, she felt like squirming.</p><p>“Funny thing about spendin’ life in a cage,” he said. “I can hear keys jangle on a belt, and to this day, it still boils my blood.”</p><p>Even when he masked his hatred, letting it simmer under the surface, it still made her shudder.</p><p>“You were in prison?” she asked.</p><p>“...I may have done some time.”</p><p>He sounded evasive. Now why the hell would he care if she knew that?</p><p>“Long enough for the ball and chain to leave a scar,” she said.</p><p>He tilted his head, impressed.</p><p>“Very observant, nurse. What else did you get a good look at, while I was conked out?”</p><p>She pulled away, flustered, and his hands slipped to his sides. She was done talking to this fiend. The walk to the exit gate only took seconds but, with his eyes piercing her from behind, it felt like eternity. Time, when slowed, had a peculiar way of becoming its own torture device. She knew what imprisonment did to people, better than most.</p><p>Her fingertips rested lightly on the switch. Freedom beckoned, a mere muscle-twitch ahead. She did not pull. She could not.</p><p>His hands found her waist. Not pulling or squeezing lewdly. Resting. Men capable of great strength and savagery were not often capable of such gentleness. She supposed he had a mechanic's touch, or something more refined. An engineer's. He knew when to apply a lot of pressure, and when the slightest touch would do, to get the result he wanted.</p><p>“And when you’re in that cage,” he murmured against her ear. “All you think about is gettin’ away. You become obsessed. When you’re free at last, it doesn’t feel right. You can’t bring yourself to leave. You wait for someone’s permission.”</p><p>She shut her eyes. Tears pricked, but damn did it feel good to be touched. She let him turn her around.</p><p>“Look here.”</p><p>She opened them and looked up. He wiped her tears away with his thumb.</p><p>“You go on and git,” he said.</p><p>He pulled the lever, and it felt like a gift and a curse. She heard it screeching open. The sirens blasted.</p><p>“I don’t need your permission to leave,” she told him irately. She grabbed his hands and pushed them off her...but didn’t release them. Now that she had a piece of him in her grip, she found she couldn’t let him go, either.</p><p>He bent down and kissed her smooth, white cheek. Her gasp of surprise was lost to the siren. His scruff was sandpapery and delicious against her skin. She craved more of that, over more sensitive surfaces.</p><p>And what she craved, she instinctively rejected.</p><p>But of course he knew that, bastard.</p><p>“Run along,” he said, waving her on. “I expect you’ve got sorrier patients than me waitin’ on you.”</p><p>That much was true. She hesitated, uncertain of anything. Maybe this was the first time she was actually leaving Silent Hill, and the rest had been a fever dream.</p><p>She shook her head and ran into the fog.</p><p>He called after her,</p><p>“Don't worry. I think we’ll be bumpin’ into each other again, real soon.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I promise I'll quit being a tease and drop some juicier chapters soon. I hope this satisfies in the mean time! :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lisa awoke, and her heart nearly stopped.</p><p>A wheelchair lay on its side. Cold light beamed through frosted windows, dissected by iron bars. An emergency room sign blinked above her head. The harsh lighting, the freezing air were far from comforting, but she breathed a sigh of relief anyway. She didn’t know where she was, except in some kind of medical facility.</p><p>Hospital layouts were grafted into her brain. It was nice to have a field advantage for once. She walked out of reception, wandering around, until she came to the doctor’s main study. Her eyes settled on a high-backed leather chair. On the desk, a television screen displayed nothing but grainy static. Its speakers hissed a silent warning.</p><p>She shut her eyes, but the distortions only worsened. The air smelt of dry books and formaldehyde.</p><p>It had been a while since the incident at Midwich. She tried not to think about it, but her old school, with all its heavy baggage, often crept into her thoughts. As for a certain gunslinger, she almost never thought about him, and for good reason. She had <em> real </em> patients to treat. She’d gotten to know most of them, their names and stories. Their unique cries of pain when they were injured.</p><p>No, almost never did he cross her mind, except for a match where she’d treated Meg. The girl had stepped in a trap and mangled her ankle. Setting the break, wrapping bandage after bandage, she had thought of him, dragging a ball and chain in some godawful prison. How he had threatened and hurt her, then tried to make amends by kissing her.</p><p>She had broken down into tears and Meg had stoutly assured her she would be fine, that she had done a good job. The poor girl could not have known her true thoughts. None of them did. None of them understood what she had been through, before the Entity ever claimed her, except for <em> him</em>. It deepened the rift in her, amplifying her loneliness.</p><p>A second later, a scream raced like a banshee through the halls. Her eyes snapped open.</p><p><em> Steve </em>.</p><p>Lisa turned away from the television, setting the medkit on the desk. She withdrew some pink ‘miracle juice’, frowning with worry, fingernail tapping the glass syringe. It wasn’t like Steve to let the killer find him so soon. Even if he acted like an aloof babysitter toward the others, he was responsible. Unlike some.</p><p>A crow cackled and took flight. She nearly dropped the needle, shooting the corvid a flammable look.</p><p>Steve screamed again, fainter. Weaker. She ran out of there, needle clutched in her fist. Most survivors had a hard time navigating the rooms and maze-like hallways. Lisa discovered him, collapsed on the drainage grate in the central theater, in almost no time at all.</p><p>It made little difference. Whoever had gotten him didn’t want him getting up to interfere again.</p><p>She knelt by a twitching body. Blood pooled around his abdomen, turning his green sweater reddish-brown. More of it leaked from his mouth and his face was white as wax. She put the needle away, stroking his thick brown hair in his last moments. She hated seeing such a bright, confident guy go out in such a broken state. She hated seeing any of them hurt, no matter how many times it happened.</p><p>He cracked his eyes, and must have recognized her. He tried to speak, but more blood gurgled out. Lisa felt a pang of guilt. A thin red line of anger sliced through her.</p><p>“Who did this to you?” she asked, a jittery feeling churning in her stomach. “Tell me.”</p><p>Steve’s lips moved. She bent and put her ear next to them.</p><p>Nothing. He was gone.</p><p>She lifted his torn sweater, dreading what she would see. He could have gotten a wound like that in a warzone. He’d been pierced clean through by a sword. Or a spear.</p><p>A set of incandescent orbs monitored her in the shadows.</p><p>“So, it <em> was </em> you,” she whispered.</p><p>He moved out of the dark, and she received her second fright of the day when he didn’t respond, marching forward without a word.</p><p>Then, he said happily, “You sure trotted over here fast. Was he your friend, or somethin’?”</p><p>He bent and pulled her up by the arm. She got a good look at his smug face. He had just gutted Steve like an animal. Now he smiled fondly at her, as if they had just met over dinner and drinks.</p><p>“I know him,” she breathed.</p><p>They stared each other down in strained, unnerving silence, not helped by the evil things flashing and rasping on the screens above their heads.</p><p>“I see you found yourself a new sweater,” he observed, tapping Steve with his shoe. “Looks like he’ll be needin’ one too.”</p><p>“Leave him alone,” she pleaded, disgusted.</p><p>She backed up a few steps, unsure if he would attack. Caleb gazed at her fixedly. She always got the feeling that he was stripping her apart with his eyes.</p><p>“Sure is nice to see you again, Lisa,” he greeted, tipping his hat. No ‘nurse’ or ‘lass’ that time.</p><p>She glanced at the body one final time. “I wish I could say the same.”</p><p>“Hey now, is that any way to greet a former patient?” Seeing her look of anguish, he laughed, adding, “If it weren’t for you, I might not be here to put these filth outta their misery.”</p><p>“You’re horrible!” she cried. “Go away, will you? I don’t want to see your face anymore.”</p><p>“But it’s <em> yours </em> I’m wantin’ to see,” he sneered. “Come closer.”</p><p>He beckoned. She shook her head. He cut swiftly across the floor, and she shuffled backwards. They went at it like that until they had both exited the noisy theater and followed one another into the dim, quiet hallway. Her back bumped into the icy wall and she shivered.</p><p>Caleb reached out and cupped her cheek. His palm burned her skin. It was ecstatic, to be touched by someone. He lifted his hand away, pushing her slanted nurse’s cap back into place.</p><p>“Have you been working long hours?” he asked, stroking the side of her cheek, trailing down her neck. His touch was a bit rough, unaccustomed to such softness under his fingertips. He was more likely to stab a horse's flank to get it to gallop, rather than use a spur.</p><p>“W-what?” she breathed.</p><p>“You seem strung out, like you forgot the dead lad will soon wake, fresher than a damn daisy.” He purred in her ear, “Meanwhile, you’re still stuck here with me.”</p><p>She trembled at his breath against her ear. He pulled back and watched her closely, how her eyes grew distant and clouded when she felt trapped.</p><p>“He ain’t why you’re more skittish than a dormouse. What’s eatin’ you, honey?” he asked.</p><p>She couldn’t say why, but she felt she could tell him things about her past, and not be judged for it. And so she found herself murmuring, in voice small and reserved,</p><p>“There was a hospital, you see, not like this one. There was a very sick girl and, well, she wanted things I was forbidden to give her. I thought I had been sent back…”</p><p>He lifted her chin, and her bright eyes settled on his pale, gibbous ones.</p><p>“Well, as luck would have it, you got me to protect you from teenage boys and sick girls alike,” he chuckled. “If he hadn’t of squealed so much maybe we wouldn’t have crossed paths at all. So thanks, Steve, was it?”</p><p>She reddened.</p><p>“Yes, how lucky. Except I never heard your gun fire,” she recalled suspiciously. “I’d have known it was you straight away, otherwise. Now why is that?”</p><p>He shrugged, winking impishly. She hated how his expressiveness could mitigate even the most awful things.</p><p>“The boy was in close range. I never waste a shot. And, sweetheart, if I didn’t <em> want </em> you to know I was here, you’d still be back in that study, gazin’ at your little lightbox.”</p><p>She inhaled sharply, realizing he’d been watching her all this time. So, he had seen her, but hadn’t attacked. He’d gone after Steve instead. Not that it made her feel better.</p><p>“Anyhow,” he said. “At least the kid has a guardian angel lookin’ out for him. That’s more than I can say.”</p><p>He put his hand against the wall, leaning close enough to kiss her. Instead he put his face against her neck and inhaled her scent deeply.</p><p>“T-Thanks,” she sighed, inching away. “But I’m no angel.”</p><p>“That makes two of us. You’ve been on my mind, you know.”</p><p>“So have you,” she confessed.</p><p>He nuzzled against her neck. He would probably let her go, if she tried to break and leave. She <em> should </em>. That would have made the most sense. Instead, she let him start to kiss her. He sank his hands into her golden hair while he kissed up her neck and hungrily switched to her mouth. Leather belts pressed against the soft white cloth of her dress. She shifted and wrapped a leg around him.</p><p>His overpowering strength and warmth, the rough texture of his lips, were too much of a temptation. She kissed him back enthusiastically, wrapping her arms around his neck. She even moaned a little when he shoved her against the wall, his tongue snaking past her bottom lip.</p><p>A generator pinged, and her heart skipped. They were not alone. She wiggled free, leaving him in the cold with his hands still pressed flat against the wall.</p><p>“Get back here!” he roared.</p><p>Before she knew what she was doing, she was fleeing that shaded corridor in the direction of whatever light would have her.</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She arrived at the sputtering generator, finding no one. Another one pinged, closer that time. Eventually, she found Adam, who had come across Steve’s fallen corpse. They were back in the treatment theater, but Caleb was nowhere to be seen.</p><p>Without inquiring as to what happened, Adam went to work on the blinking generator. Lisa gingerly helped him, grateful he wasn’t in a talking mood. Before they could finish, another one activated.</p><p>Adam beamed in admiration, saying, “David’s really outdoing himself. He didn’t take it well, what happened to...well, you know.” He motioned toward the body, wincing.</p><p>“...Did he see who did it?” Lisa asked, without looking up.</p><p>“No." He paused. "Did <em>you</em>?”</p><p>She opened her mouth, but the generator saved her, revving to life in a burst of flashbulbs. They both ran off when the ceiling, with its twisted chandelier of monitors and wires, started to crash down on them.</p><p>Even while fleeing for her life, Lisa was more worried about how Caleb would react to the match going downhill...and to her essentially abandoning him, in his time of need. A type of need, anyway. She rubbed her neck, where his beard had chafed her skin pink and raw. He had kissed her like a man about to be hanged. No one had ever savored her like that.</p><p>But did she savor him?</p><p>
  <em> Of course not. I don’t know what I was thinking... </em>
</p><p>Sounds of a scuffle reached their ears, and she froze in place. There came a loud, hollow thunk, followed by David’s victorious bellowing. He ran up to her and Adam, puffing and red-faced from his exertions. He was ragged with dust and sweat, and there were cuts and bruises on his arms.</p><p>“What happened?” Lisa asked, apprehensive.</p><p>“Relax, doll,” David chortled. “I’m all right. The killer won’t be botherin’ us no more.”</p><p>“You sure?” Adam asked, doubtful.</p><p>“See for yourself.”</p><p>Adam declined with a shake of his head, but Lisa ran down the corridor. She braked quickly, almost stepping on Caleb’s gun. He lay unconscious with a pallet on top of him. His hat was knocked sideways and a bruise was forming on his bleeding forehead. Lisa cringed. Only a brawler like David was capable of slamming those things down so hard.</p><p>She knelt, and he groaned something that sounded like ‘Lisa’. It might have just been her imagination. She blushed, anyway.</p><p>“The damndest thing really,” David said over her shoulder, rubbing the back of his head. “He had his gun on me n’ everything, but he didn’t fire. He just chased. He almost let me drop it on him, but I caught him by surprise.”</p><p>“And your cuts and bruises?” she asked.</p><p>“Got these vaulting over a window. He scared the shit outta me, but he didn’t so much as move when I cracked him.”</p><p>Lisa hid the knowing smile on her lips by turning away, opening the medkit.</p><p>“Hey!” Adam cried from the end of the hall. “Are you two coming, or are you gonna Dr. Kevorkian that jerk?”</p><p>“You two go on ahead.” Lisa waved, holding up the needle. She said in her best, most ominous voice, “Leave this one to me.”</p><p>David and Adam exchanged looks, snickering like schoolboys. They ran off, grateful to be away from the killer, and she went to work. She put a bandage on his laceration, trying to assess how bad the concussion was by the bruise and lump. She didn’t realize, but she waited by his side the entire time. She pulled his silver head into her lap so the blood could circulate better.</p><p>The exit gates buzzed to life. Adam and David found her where they’d left her. Adam seemed happy to almost be free. David took one look at the Deathslinger and his eyes narrowed.</p><p>“Still breathin’. What gives, Lisa?”</p><p>She stood up, clasping her hands.</p><p>“I’ve been good to you both in the past, right? Never asked for a favor?”</p><p>David knew where she was going with it, and he growled his displeasure audibly.</p><p>“Are you <em> nuts </em>? You want to help this maniac?”</p><p>“His name is Caleb Quinn.” She paused. “He helped me, once. Sort of.”</p><p>“I don’t give a shit if he’s Jesus H. Christ. He doesn’t deserve our help,” David snorted.</p><p>Adam gave her a pitying look, but turned and left. He was the only one with good sense.</p><p>“Please,” she begged David. “I can barely move him on my own.”</p><p>“Fuck’s sake. “ He heaved a sigh. “Just hurry up.”</p><p>They lifted the pallet together and he helped her drag the tall man’s considerable bulk onto a cot. David turned to her and, with an indifferent nod, followed Adam to the exit, not wanting to stick around for when he awoke.</p><p>She sat in the dark with Caleb, dabbing his wound. Eventually, hours after the others had gone, Caleb stirred on the cot.</p><p>“Hello,” Lisa greeted.</p><p>“You again,” he muttered, touching his forehead lightly. “Rackin’ up quite the bill, ain’t I? S’what I get for being soft.”</p><p>She shook her head. She wouldn’t ever thank him for sparing David. He didn’t deserve it.</p><p>“Don’t worry. I’m working <em> pro gratis </em>.” A friendly smile ghosted her lips. “You slept a long while. But I think your pride’s more damaged than anything. How do you feel?”</p><p>“Like my pride’s damaged,” he agreed. He sat up, and fell back down, swearing, when a wave of dizziness hit. She helped him get settled.</p><p>“Are you in pain anywhere else?” she asked, concerned.</p><p>“Think so.” He grimaced. “Feels odd.”</p><p>She stirred in her chair. “Where? David said he only hit you once…”</p><p>“Give me your hand,” he muttered.</p><p>Frowning, she gave it to him. He took it and placed it above his heart.</p><p>“It’s broke clean in two. You left it high n’ dry, you know.”</p><p>She drew her hand back, stifling a gasp. The last time he pulled that trick he was actually hurt. Now he was just horny for her.</p><p>“I didn’t want anyone to see us,” she hissed. “But, now that we’re alone, I…I don’t know if…”</p><p>He grabbed her arm and pulled her close.</p><p>“Kiss me, if that’s what you want, woman. Do it or leave. But don’t lie through your teeth.”</p><p>She nodded, and gave him what he wanted. What <em> she </em> wanted. It was no longer a nurse-to-patient exchange...or was it? It seemed they both needed something from each other.</p><p>Between kissing him and letting him fondle her through her uniform, she climbed on top of the cot, straddling him. His gun was way out of reach, back in the hallway. She had a syringe in her pocket.</p><p>She was in control, and she needed this brute to know that. She took out the needle and held it between her teeth, grinding against his jeans.</p><p>“Be sweet” she warned, taking it out and brandishing it under his nose. “Or I’ll put you under.”</p><p>He laughed at the idea of her threatening the likes of him, and thrust against her, hard. She felt how much heat he was packing and her eyes lit up.</p><p>“Like this, you mean?”</p><p>Caleb seized her hips and flipped her with a squeal of mattress springs, switching places on the cot. His hand caught her wrist with the needle and pried it loose.</p><p>“Nice try.”</p><p>He threw it aside and kissed her roughly. His hands went back to enjoying her body, while she tangled her fingers in his sleek white mane. His hand crept up the curve of her thigh, past her skirt, and his fingers nestled against the dimple of her sex. Calloused tips slipped past cotton and spandex and found the soft, sweet promised land. He delved right in, locating her clit with ease.</p><p>“Oh...!” was she all she yelped, before he sealed her lips with his own. He pushed one finger inside, then two, massaging everything patiently, pulling out to pay her clit special attention. Her panties became a sopping mess, bunching in the way, so he stripped them down her shaking thighs. On a particularly deep stroke, she arched her back and lifted her pelvis, and he took the opportunity to use his free hand to rip aside both shirt and bra to suckle and tongue at a nipple.</p><p>He bit down, and she moaned into his mouth from the dual sensations, sweet below and sharp above, urging him to continue, clawing at his back, grinding into his fingers. He took a break to take his belts off, smearing her juices all over himself, and unzip. She sighed impatiently.</p><p>“Got somethin’ for you. Don’t worry, sweetheart.”</p><p>At the sight of his gunmetal gray happy-trail and bulge, Lisa, sweet, helpful nurse Lisa, cooed something so suggestive his dick almost freed itself of its own accord. She had learned a few things in hell about how men’s deviant minds worked.</p><p>“That,” he chastised, shuddering as her fingers coasted along his springy cock and squeezed, winning a whine of delight from her, “is not somethin’ you should ever say to a patient, little lady.”</p><p>She giggled and nipped at his lip, the bristles pricking her skin. “And you should be tossing me on a hook, not giving me your other spear. So we’re even.”</p><p>“Oh, so it’s my spear you want?” he taunted. He grabbed his length and aligned it where she dripped for him the most, although her mouth was making a convincing argument. She wrapped her lips around his finger and sucked with another needy whine that just made him harder. He slid inside, gasping at her warmth. Her vocalizations turned into animal moans of deepest satisfaction.</p><p>“Fuck,” he rasped. He pumped her pussy, slowly, letting her adjust.</p><p>She wrapped her legs around his torso and her heels tumbled off in the process. He kept all his clothes on, weighing on top of her in a pile of leather, metal, and muscle.</p><p>“Caleb,” she pleaded. “Faster. Please. Punish me.”</p><p>She <em>wanted</em> him to make her forget. Every movement was a challenge to be rougher, harder. He had never had one beg to him like this, and women were already somewhat foreign machines to him. He felt comfortable with her, though. She took his hands and encouraged him to touch her while he thrust steadily, rocking the cot against the wall. His palm slid under her dress again and cupped her ass, stretching, pushing. He groaned and thrust harder and she threw her knees back.</p><p>He peeled up to get a good look at her, while he was inside. Hitched gasps and girlish sighs escaped her open mouth. Her hair fanned around her in a yellow halo. She was an angel begging for him to defile her. His primal urge took over and he held her down, flesh carving out wet flesh, until she felt her muscles bunch and tremble for release. On the next thrust she came, crying his name like a mantra. A pool spread beneath her on the mattress.</p><p>Caleb pulled out, finishing all over her thick, milky thighs. He ripped his coat off and collapsed on top of her, panting, a creature still lost in heat. His hand swept her damp hair aside and kissed along her neck gratefully.</p><p>Having damn near concussed himself again, he soon rolled over and fell asleep, snoring. Lisa slid off the bed, pulling her underwear back on, gathering her fallen shoes. She tucked her toes into them and leaned over her patient, kissing him sweetly on the nose while he slept deeply.</p><p>Then she ran, in what felt like slow-motion, toward the exit in a dreamlike panic.</p>
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